Grieving
by Oceanbreeze7
Summary: Challenge: "I'm fine. I'm just a little sore- nothing the med wing can't fix. Maybe I can even get Coulson to schedule us one of those fancy massages...what? Tasha what's wrong?" "I'm sorry Clint. Coulson didn't make it."


**Hello!**

**This was a challenge given to me, and I hope I made my challenger very happy!**

**Anyways- when I was writing this I wanted to test out a new style. This basically has much much more description, please tell me if this works, or if you noticed a change from my other stories.**

**I'm also planning on writing a book. (Yes, a real book), so i'd love if this style of writing is interesting enough.**

**Thanks,**

**REVIEW and let me know!**

**~OB**

* * *

New York was pretty at night.

Of course, Clint had visited hundreds of cities, towns, islands- he had traveled all over the world to the most recluse places with the most spectacular views. New York never would have the flair that Athens Greece or Australia would have, but it was pretty enough.

It's somber mood was fitting enough.

The smog of the city had sunk a fair bit, making everything dimly lit and vague through the haze. The clouds had swarmed into a thick patch of dark grey cotton. Rain was beginning to drizzle in the lightest of ways, humidity thick as it made his hair cling to his exposed arms.

New York was nothing compared to Venice or Paris, but it seemed much more fitting then anything Clint had ever seen too.

A car honked low below, its example proving true as dozens more quickly echoed, drivers furious with the numerous roadblocks and redirected traffic from the ruins of the battle from the day before.

Clint couldn't find it in himself to care anymore. He just laid there, sitting on a windowsill protected from an uncovered balcony. Rain increased its gentle mist into something stronger then a sprinkle.

_"Great. Battle's done. The maniac's taken down, Tasha?"_

_"Loki has been restrained. Are you alright?"_

_"I'm fine. I'm just a little sore- nothing the med wing can't fix. Maybe I can even get Coulson to schedule us one of those fancy massages...what? Tasha what's wrong?"_

_"I'm sorry Clint. Coulson didn't make it."_

Clint exhaled, breath shakily as his throat felt constricted, regardless of the thin cotton shirt he wore. He closed his eyes, slowly lowering his forehead until it gently rested on his knee, where his legs had been curled towards his body.

Clint felt water on his cheek- he didn't care to wipe the raindrop from his face.

x-(X)-x

"He's _still _out there?" Tony asked, eyebrows rising as he squinted, trying to see through the window to the balcony where Clint apparently was still sitting.

"He's been there for hours." Steve spoke, glancing up from where he had an awkwardly expensive pen in one hand, and a slightly water damaged newspaper in the other. His fingertips were already slightly ink stained from shifting the paper numerous times while thinking for the answer to the crossword. "You hadn't noticed?"

Bruce looked at Tony who merely wrinkled his nose. He shot the window a faintly considering look, "Well, what does he do when he needs to...'water the lawn'?" He asked, using his hands vaguely to emphasize his point.

Steve looked at him disgustedly while he shifted the paper once more, folding it and setting it next to a waxed bowl of fruit. His chair scratched against the extravagant marble flooring.

"You going to go talk to him?" Bruce asked, and Steve gave a slightly sheepish smile and a nod.

"Good luck." Tony muttered, flopping onto a plush couch while lazily pointing towards the TV, JARVIS activating it.

Steve opened the door, taking care not to wrench the flimsy metal lock or break the glass. The air was wet, thick and immediately Steve shifted to breathing through his mouth.

The balcony didn't offer any overhang, instead there was a thick curtain of water from where the rain collected and fell from the side of the building. Knowing there wasn't any way to avoid it, Steve stepped through, flinching as the cold water touched his neck, and flattened his hair.

The external lights had been deactivated, the only way Steve was able to see was using the other florescent signs in the nearby area. One bright red billboard helped cast the balcony with enough light for Steve to find the dark shapeless mass that was Clint, curled up on the ground against the glass of the window inside.

"Clint?" Steve asked, voice audible but muffled by the constant sound of rain falling on the stone. He cleared his throat, before repeating at a higher volume, "Clint!"

The figure shifted, blonde hair darkened and plastered to his face made him seem even smaller. The red glow that was the only light made his skin seem even more pale as his eyes were glassier with possible sickness. "I heard you the first time." He mumbled, Steve's impressive hearing made such quiet mumblings possible.

"Oh...well..." Once again, Steve felt a wave of awkwardness. He swallowed once, blinking the rain that ran from his eyebrows down into his eyes, "Don't you want to come inside?"

Clint gave what looked like a shrug, his dark shirt and the dark refection of the window proved tricky to distinguish the fabric from glass.

"...Well, Tony's ordering pizza in a little bit-"

"Not hungry."

Once again, the conversation paused with the exception of a car honking and more rain.

"Come on, at least get inside. You're drenched and probably cold." Steve sighed, stepping forward with one arm extended to help the smaller man to his feet.

"I've dealt with worse. Go away." Clint muttered, shifting and burrowing his face once more into the wet fabric of his shirt, pants pulled up tight to change him into a small wet ball.

"Here" Steve sighed, pulling off his leather jacket and offering it. Clint didn't move to accept it, so instead Steve just awkwardly tucked it around the man, and stepped back, shivering as the rain quickly made to soak his undershirt.

"I'll just," He cleared his throat loudly, "I'll be inside. Come in soon."

Clint didn't.

x-(X)-x

_Thwick!_

There was a similar thud just a few seconds later. A slight vibrating hum as the arrow shaft vibrated as it impaled itself deep into the punching bag, a thin steady stream of sand trickling out.

Clint watched the arrow until it slowed it jerky movements. He drew another one, moving almost sluggishly as he gently notched it into his bowstring and straightened his arm. His eyes shifted to the left of one of the arrows, along the seam of where the bag had been stitched. He held his breath, and gently rolled his fingers to release the arrow.

It flew, slipping deep into the leather seam and actually splitting it a few inches. The shaft vibrated as sand spilled out with a slight hissing noise onto Stark's elaborate gym floor.

He stared a few seconds, exhaling slowly and briefly closing his eyes.

_"That's a nice trick there."_

_"What? Who the hell are you?"_

_"Not important. You have a pretty good aim."_

_"You bet I do. Best aim I know of. What's it to ya'?"_

_"Seems a shame that you're in a Circus if you can shoot that well. We have a place for people who can shoot as well as that."_

_"You do? And who the hell are you!"_

_"My name is Agent Coulson."_

His eyes opened and this time he drew an arrow, loaded it, and fired with speed unrivaled with any marksman in the world.

_Thwick!_

Again, it landed.

"A little bit of misplaced aggression?" Clint looked up steely as Tony walked in, the door whistling before shutting behind him with a click. Tony glanced over to the bag with one arched eyebrow, "Ignoring that you're murdered one of my best punching bags, you seem upset. What's on your mind?" Tony asked, dropping into one of the available chairs and crossing his arms.

Clint said nothing, only drawing another arrow and slowly aiming, then firing.

Tony frowned, watching the remaining three arrows fly before Clint lowered his bow and approached the punching bag. He retrieved them with an experienced flick of his wrist, the shiny metal head pulling free with no resistance.

Tony watched with a small frown, thinking over everything that had happened recently, or rather what he knew of the archer.

"Nice shooting out there. The other day when we were taking down aliens- not that your aim now isn't impressive. Like an everyday Robin Hood."

Clint said nothing, and pulled the next arrow out.

"And uh, sorry about the Loki thing."

Another arrow was pulled out.

"I, uh, I heard from Natal- _Natasha_, that you were close to Coulson-"

This time Clint slammed the arrow he had just finished pulling out back into the tough hide of the bag, using the arrow like a knife. Tony cut off sharply as he noticed the action, and spoke slightly quieter, "He was a good man-"

"Go away."

Clint's voice was sharp, and after a few seconds of no response, Clint pulled an arrow out with no care for how it pulled sharply on the shaft, and pulled it back. A quick glance with his eyes, and he allowed the arrow to propel itself into the armrest of the chair Tony was sitting in.

Tony jumped to his feet, hands above his head before he rushed out, mumbling something under his breath as Clint exhaled to try and slow his quick breathing.

He was angry- he was _furious._

He turned, and this time without even caring about his bow, he exchanged his grip towards something like a baseball bat, slamming it again and again into the leather.

He quickly grew dissatisfied with the results, dropping his bow and resorting to punching the bag, shouting every once in a while.

Every kick was a Chitauri. Every punch was into the smirking face of Loki.

Every scream was the fact _he wasn't there._

Clint wasn't sure when his punch's started faltering, the next thing he was aware was he was on the ground, curled in on himself and giving the most pathetic whimpers in exchanging of sobs.

Everyone took care to stay clear of Clint. Thor was still unsure of the exact happenings of the archer. Natasha had long since vanished on her own little trip, only offering a quiet "I'll be back.", before leaving.

Now, the only sound coming from Clint's adopted room would be occasional shouting, screaming, or the loud unnerving sound of breaking objects.

He had come out of his room at night on occasion, raiding the fridge and stealing snacks before trudging back to his room under the cover of night. He wore clothing completely different then what they would have assumed- long sweatshirts that hung on him like a dress, and pants that were baggy enough to look like they belonged to someone else. Regardless, speaking to him in person was an impossible thing to do.

x-(X)-x

"Clint! Hawkeye! Whatever you want- open this friggen door!"

Clint eyed the door with a scowl. He had barricaded his room, shoving the dresser as well as the desk against it, making sure to dismantle the doorknob just to make sure.

He closed his eyes, turning and burrowing his head into the pillow even further, scowling as the shouting still failed to silence.

"Clint? Could you please open the door?" The soft voice of the Hulk-Doctor, _whatever _his name was came through the door.

Clint could deal with shouting, he could deal with screaming. This? This soft calm voice that wasn't breaking under stress, or always calm, able to look into a fight with a soft smile and not fidget and-

Clint reached up and jerkily clawed the near invisible hearing aids from his ears, welcoming the muffled silence the moment he threw his arm and hurled them into the darkness of his room. The pillows were smooth as he slammed his face in, pulling the covers higher up over his shoulders as he gripped the sheets with an intense grip.

If only he had been _faster_. If he wasn't being so cocky, or if he had broken free sooner then- then-

Clint curled in on himself, guilt in waves so high he felt like he was drowning. It was _his _fault. It was because of _him-_

_"So, what is this thing? Your Batcave? Your little Bermuda Triangle? Oh wait, I got this. It's a kinky torture chamber."_

_"Agent Barton, this is your room."_

_"My room? So I could turn it into that?"_

_"I don't think Headquarters would agree that turning your room into a torture chamber would be beneficial. They may revoke privileges."_

_"A torture chamber? Dude, I was talking about the Batcave. Now I know your priorities."_

x-(X)-x

Natasha came back a few days after they had seen Clint last.

She didn't show it, but she was concerned that he wasn't out of his room- even though it did have an attached bathroom.

Clint hadn't bothered to find his hearing aids. He was _tired_, he was _sore- _every joint hurt and he didn't have the strength to rise from the wonderful bed Stark had gifted him with.

(Logically he knew that he wasn't sick. He knew he could get out of bed, but he just _didn't want to.)_

Clint laid there, he was in a partial sleeping state- aware but feeling as if everything was in a dream.

He knew he should get up- he hadn't taken a shower in a while, not to mention that his clothes were the same for a while now.

He didn't notice as the door was slammed into loudly. He didn't notice as Natasha shouted on the other side and the others looked on sheepishly.

"Obviously Clint doesn't want to be bothered." Steve offered softly. Natasha scoffed, scowling as she looked at Thor who still seemed confounded with the situation.

"Thor. Break the door. It's been barricaded." Natasha pointed.

"Wait- barricaded?" Tony asked in shock, Bruce frowned.

"Why won't he just open the door?" Steve asked sheepishly while Natasha continued to direct Thor.

"He probably doesn't have his hearing aids in." She rattled off, watching critically as Thor slammed his shoulder into the door, knocking it off its hinges as something wooden on the other side groaned loudly.

One more slam from Thor's superhuman strength, and light flooded into the room as the rank smell of Body Oder escaped, as well as the chirping sound of a watch alarm.

Natasha gingerly stepped over the wooden fragments and scattered nails as she walked in, approaching the bed where a lump was faintly visible.

They watched as she sat on the bed, it dipping slightly and alerting him to roll and blink up from where he lay.

"Clint." She murmured, gently reaching out to touch his shoulder. He moved, curling back in on himself with his back to her.

Tony gingerly stepped in, looking with a frown of disapproval around the room until he noticed the small tan devices on the ground directly under a slightly lopsided picture.

"Here's Cinderella's slippers." Tony spoke, tossing the devices to Natasha who caught them, before nudging Clint once more, who seemed even more intent at laying down.

"We'll just...go." Bruce coughed from the doorway, the group retracting themselves from the awkward situation.

A few hours later, the sound of feet scuffling on the marble floor drew their attention.

Clint was walking out, Natasha next to him. She was looking just as she had before, black skinny jeans with a tight red shirt. If anything, her appearance just helped worsen Clint's. His skin was pale, translucent in some areas. Veins and Arteries bulged under the skin, deep purple bags highlighted the glassy casing that covered the dull orbs. His clothing was new, and despite his appearance only hours earlier, he was smelling noticeable better.

"Sleeping Beauty has awoken." Tony smirked, causing Clint to look up slowly and icily.

"If Tasha's Prince Charming, then you can be the Ass." He spoke back, voice hoarse yet still strong.

Bruce's eyebrows shot up, as did Steve. He glanced at Tony in shock, awaiting the argument no doubt.

Tony just lifted the glass of Gin he had, holding it as a toast, "You're witty. I like you."

Clint made no more conversation and instead shuffled towards the kitchen, presumably towards a drink of water if the cracking of his lips wasn't a sure sign of dehydration.

"Is there anything I can help with?" Bruce asked, standing up from the chair where he had been sitting earlier.

"No. Go away." Clint muttered, holding the cup shakily while drinking the water.

"I fail to see what ails you so." Thor rumbled, causing Clint to scowl slightly as he rubbed his eyes.

"Then stop talking, you're like a Golden Retriever." Clint muttered.

"You're sassy." Tony smirked, jumping to his feet before giving a firm pat on Clint's shoulder.

Clint flinched and scowled, Tony carried on. Tony had a swagger to his step, he practically spun on his heels as he twirled to a stop by a cupboard, yanking it open.

Clint didn't bother to look, but the familiar smell of antiseptic had him glancing over. The cupboard was small, but not shallow. Along the sides were small racks neatly holding small yet unmistakable orange bottles.

He nimbly picked out one bottle, tossing it lazily as the pills inside rattled, before he nearly slammed it on the counter in front of Clint.

"Two. That's it." Tony nodded, turning to walk away, Clint plucked the bottle to investigate it curiously. He rotated it in his palm, eyebrows rising in both curiosity and confusion as it was prescribed.

"Isn't sharing prescribed medicine illegal?" Clint asked dryly, before blinking at what it was, "And speaking of illegal, how the hell did the great Tony Stark get Antidepressants?"

Bruce looked at Tony in surprise while Tony gave a shrug, "Eh, bad time. I was dying, there was no cure, I was a jerk, you know."

Clint frowned but opened the bottle nonetheless. Natasha watched him with a critical eye as he took the prescribed amount of Prozac, downing it with the remainder of his water.

"You were dying?" Steve asked in slight horror mixed with fascination. He leant forward on his chair, eager to know, "When?"

"Like, eight months ago. That's when Natashalie went undercover and _investigated _me." Tony winked, causing Steve to blush.

"Don't sweat talk Stark. It's unbefitting of you." Natasha drawled from where she was standing by Clint. Bruce smiled at the banter, Thor gave a few small chuckles.

"Hey Clint?" Tony asked, leisurely reclining on the chair where he had abandoned it prior. Clint just looked over tiredly.

"You know you're not alone, right?" Tony asked, face shifting from amused and joking, to serious in a quick facial shift. "About Coulson. He was a moron, but he was one of the bravest men I knew."

At once Clint's expression faltered. What one was just beginning to expose itself clamped itself shut. Clint's hand tightened into a firm grip around the crystal glass cup, setting it down with a loud _click_ of crystal on the stone counter.

"You don't understand _any-"_

"I killed the closest thing I had to a father," Tony spoke casually, the tensing of his shoulders revealing just how tough his words truly were, "And my first friend died in front of me for my mistakes. Am I close enough?"

Clint stared at Tony. The pause tense, and as both stared at each other in such confidence, it seemed that neither would back down from some sort of unspoken argument, that had arisen with each confession.

"My mother died when I was a child." Bruce offered, voice small as he offered a small bitter smile, "And my father wasn't the loving sort."

Clint's eyes shifted to Bruce, and before he could say anything or counter it was Steve who spoke.

"My best friend died in front of me and it was my fault." Steve's voice was small, almost weak yet the persistent growing feeling of guilt continued to develop to a sickening amount.

"I-"

"I was the one of whom compelled Loki to end his life," Thor spoke, glancing up from where he had been looking out the window prior, "And whom brought him to such madness that killed the Son of Coul."

The silence was thick once more, each looking at Clint. Natasha was there as a ghost of comfort, arm brushing against his as Clint struggled to progress forward with what to say.

It was darkening. Although the room was brightly lit, and the sun shone through the large windows in its midday brightness, it felt as if a dark wet rag had flattened itself to each of the Avengers, bringing them down into its sopping mess of memories and depression.

"I'm sorry Clint. I really am." Tony spoke once more, voice serious as it vastly contrasted with the near constant presence of sarcasm, "Coulson was a brave man. I owe him more than anything for taking care of Pepper when I couldn't."

"The Norns were not merciful." Thor agreed in his rumbling bass, much deeper and somber then the normal upbeat tone his voice always carried, "May Valhalla treat him well."

Clint was many things. He was a Circus child, an archer, a spy, assassin, friend, and son-to-none.

Right then, Clint was feeling everything.

He turned, blinking frantically to try and control the instinctive watering of his eyes and the tightness in his throat. Natasha looked alarmed, eyes widened fractionally. Her arm reached out, brushing along his in a brief touch that conveyed her thoughts, _'Are you okay? Do we need to go?'_

"Did I ever tell you about how I met Coulson?" Clint asked, voice much more hoarse although he could not find it in him to try fruitlessly to clear it, "It's a- an interesting story."

Natasha's eyes flickered to his own, then along his cheek where he was aware it was twitching slightly, and along his throat to see the slight tensing. Her head rose, the rare display of concern already icing itself over in her version of _'alright then'._ Her arm retracted from where it was still lightly brushing his own.

Clint spun, this time briefly running his hand along under his eyes to clear the dampness in case it was there- it wasn't. He sniffed once, congested already while he offered a small cough.

"Right, well it wouldn't be a friggen awesome story if Coulson didn't do his sweet Ninja moves, so anyways it was on a Sunday. _Everything _happened on a Sunday, and this man in a suit walks up-"

_"Hey, Coulson?"_

_"Yes Clint?"_

_"How did ya' know 'bout me? I mean, I didn't know the fed's were into Carnies."_

_"We're just normal people, Clint."_

_"Oh, sure. So that creepy smile you have and your skills of calmness are perfectly normal. I swear, if I didn't know you I'd think you were stoned."_

_"Clint-"_

_"Nah, you don't seem the weed type. Crack? Nope, you're too calm for a crack head-"_

_"Is there a reason for this conversation, Clint?"_

_"Yeah, it's...Thanks, I guess."_

_"For giving you a job?"_

_"No, I mean...well, I don't really know my parents, and I don't really know what a home is if it isn't made out of canvas and smells like horse crap, so...thanks."_

_"You're very welcome."_

_"I'm not sure what a parent is, but I guess you're better then my 'dad' with the Circus. Is that okay? I mean- if you feel weird or anything-"_

_"Clint. It's fine. I'm honored."_

* * *

**Alright,**

**PLEASE REVIEW- I've started on a Supernatural fanfiction, and I've discovered that those fans really _really _don't review.**

**Please! I need to know if i'm on the right track, or if this isn't working somehow.**

**Anyways- this was a challenge, so that means no more chapters beyond that. I'm sure you know the drill by now.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**~OB**

_**Review**_


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